Chapter 29: TWENTY EIGHT

It had been three days since Colonel Westwood called, and that worried General Wittenberg. If there was one thing about the Colonel it was his punctuality. Something had gone wrong, something must have gone wrong.

No matter. He’d go up there himself, and find out. Sitting behind the desk most of the time wasn’t the way to spend your life. Just shy of sixty, he had the looks and physique of a man twenty years younger. The looks and the build could vanish rather quickly if he didn’t get out once in a while.

He picked up the phone. “Rafferty? Get a plane ready... Why? I’m flying to Canada... No, not vacation. Business.”

An hour later the plane was sailing northeast, up to Canada and the province of Ontario. What he couldn’t understand was that a village had been built for the aliens. Colbert’s Landing. Some local yokel named Evan Colbert was responsible for heading a project to keep the aliens up there in Canada.

What was it about them that made these Canadians do all those things for them? Aliens, no matter how they appeared, no matter what their demeanor, shouldn’t be greeted with such courtesy.

It was the cuteness factor, wasn’t it? Oh yes, that had to be it. The aliens reminded us of foxes, with their pointy snouts, and those large dark eyes, and that reddish brown fur and that long bushy tail. Well, except for the fur color, at least that was different. What if... what if they looked like reptilians, or something straight out of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds? Slimy, tentacled, slithering out of their saucer?

The plane crossed into Canada without incident. He was already over Ontario. In the distance he could see the city of Toronto, the most populous city in Canada. Two million, three million, something like that. He had visited here eight years ago, watched a game between the Blue Jays and his favorite team, the Detroit Tigers. A 6-5 loss in August of that year that lasted 19 innings.

Northern Ontario. Land of forests and lakes and rivers. How could anyone live in this lonely place. He craved cities, company, people around him. As the plane flew onward to its destination loneliness waved through his body, as if he were the last surviving person in this world.

He touched down not far from the village, and the plane cruised to a stop behind another plane. Who else had come here?

Before he left the plane, he instructed Lieutenant Simpson back at Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base to stand by for any calls. If there was anything going on here, anything he didn’t like, he’d bring soldiers up here so fast the Prime Minister of Canada would be dizzier than a spinning top.

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